Twists and Knots
by HoloGhost
Summary: Marco misses his bus. A girl talks about unexpected twists. And a certain offensively blunt guy thinks Marco looks pathetic.


Marco knew he couldn't make it in time; no matter how fast he pumped his legs, or how long he made his strides, he wouldn't reach the bus stop in time. Yet when he saw his ride stop at the the intersection, he shouldered the doors and made a mad dash across the courtyard, muttering 'excuse me's' as he pushed past the smokers inconveniently standing around the path. He bounded up the stairs just in time to see his bus pull away from the stop.

_No, no, not today! _Marco whined to himself, bent over as he coughed out the cigarette smoke he had sucked in during his run. He watched his supposed-to-be ride drive away, tires spraying slush onto the unfortunate cars parked on the road. If he squinted hard enough, he could just see the silhouettes of the passengers standing along the isle, cramped together, but warm.

It was the worst day to miss the bus. Not that there were good days to do so. But out of all the days for that to happen, Marco just had to be late during the coldest, wettest, most dreary day of the semester. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he still had his scarf and gloves. But that old man would have frozen to death by now if Marco hadn't given him his own, as well as his umbrella.

_Maybe mom is right. I'm going to die because I'm too much of a pushover. Frozen to death because I gave my warm clothes away. Starved because I gave my food to a homeless woman. Killed for saving a friend._

Marco slapped his cheeks, forcing himself out of his thoughts. _What are you talking about, Marco? You're just tired. _

After writing six mini-essays within two hours for his Western Art finals, all he wanted was to go home and bury himself under the thick heavy covers of his bed. Instead, he had to wait around, shivering and angry, for the next bus.

With the most defeated sigh that Marco had ever made in his twenty years on earth, he trudged the leaf-strewn ground to the bus stop. If only the line in the washroom hadn't been so long. Then again, the washrooms in the main foyer were always busy. Marco knew that. And he should have gone to Building B. Like he always did. Except today.

"Aargh, what's up with today? I swear, life is fucking with me right now." Marco rubbed a hand up and down his face, trying to wipe off the grittiness of his eyes and the frown on his brow.

"Maybe it has something special for you. A twist."

Marco jumped. He looked over his shoulder, then when he saw nothing, turned his eyes downwards. The girl who spoke looked up at him with a smile, though Marco noticed that her eyelids looked as heavy as Marco's own felt. Though she was sure to be warmer, what with the layers of jackets she wore and the light pink toque snugged comfortably on her head.

"I sure hope it doesn't," he answered, with a sniff or two. "Being stuck here in the cold is bad enough. I don't need more 'twists'. I just want to get home and drink hot chocolate under the covers," he added wistfully.

The girl scrunched her nose. "You didn't miss the bus, did you?"

Marco replied with a roll of his eyes, and a groan.

"That sucks. Something good might come out of this." She shrugged. "At least that was what my Gran used to say. Good things always come at the end of a train of bad ones."

Marco pursed his lips at the unfamiliar words. "I never heard of that saying before."

"I think my Gran just made that up. You know, to cheer me up."

"Oh. So, what good do you think will come out of this situation?" he asked, genuinely interested, and hoping that his situation would improve somehow.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Lots of unexpected things happen. The sky isn't too heavy. So it might not snow!"

Her optimistic words made Marco's stomach drop. Now that she said that, it was surely going to snow.

More students filtered out of the college, and soon enough, there was a huge line behind Marco. The girl he had been talking to found her friends, and she was talking to them. Now that there was no conversation to distract him, Marco felt the chill again, worse than before. He hunched his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest to trap as much heat as he could. He couldn't do anything about his nape though. He didn't want to take his hands out from under his armpits. And his collar didn't do much help.

He looked up everytime he heard a loud engine, hoping it was the bus. But everytime he just dropped his head back down in disappointment. He found himself sniffing more and more, then eventually, he was breathing through his mouth; his nose too clogged to function properly. His knees began to shake, or they were shaking for a long time now and he just didn't notice, and his neck muscles were as stiff as the stupid, cold metal pole in front of him.

_Please, please come already. _Marco realised that the beggging did nothing but stretch out the time. But he couldn't help himself. _Just fucking come already, please!_

Marco checked his watch. Eight minutes had past. Eight minutes! From the moment he watched his ride drive away from him to the very moment that Marco stood, huddling to himself, cold, tired, and utterly miserable, only eight minutes have past. It couldn't have been eight! It has been ten minutes, at least! But no. It really only have been eight minutes. Nine now. Six more minutes to go.

_Oh, God, why did I have to go pee? I'm gonna fucking cry. Why did I go to the foyer instead of B? I'm such an idiot._

"Fuck me," Marco groaned.

Someone chuckled behind behind him. It was an amused chuckle. Maybe a little condescending. Marco doesn't normally punch people because they _chuckled_ at him. But given the state he was in, he would have done it.

He was just about to turn to the guy who laughed, when his nose and mouth were smothered with an ivory checked cloth. It was _oh so warm_, and smelled mildly of a day-old cologne; the kind that seeped through the fabric, its scent changing when it mingled with the natural smell of someone's skin.

A scarf, Marco realised, its fringed edges swaying against his chest as it was thrown around to wrap his neck. Marco wheeled around and found himself face to face with a guy with the most open gaze Marco had ever seen. Marco could see how the stranger thought that he was stupid for not wearing a scarf in the middle of winter, and how pathetic he looked, jumping on the balls of his feet to keep warm; it was all very clear in his light eyes. His eyebrows, slanted in a scowl, only emphasized what his eyes were saying.

"Dress warmer next time," he said curtly.

Before Marco could get a word out of his mouth, the other guy turned around and simply walked away, heading back toward the courtyard. He was joined by his loud friends as soon as he reached the stairs.

Marco watched the group throw a basketball among themselves as they walked toward the gym, waiting for a clear view of the guy, wanting to yell his thanks to him. That chance never came, though. He was covered by his friends - the very tall one, in particular, and they were probably too far and too loud, anyway.

The remaining waiting time didn't bother Marco as it did before. He was warm now, and not just from the scarf. The fact that a stranger gave Marco his scarf (even if it was because he thought Marco looked pathetic) evoked a tender feeling from him, warming him inside out. He was touched by the kind gesture.

Snow began to fall soon after, just as Marco predicted it would. He smiled at the girl behind him. "What did you say about snow?"

"I said it _might _not snow." She shrugged, then smiled smugly. "I was right about one thing though."

"About what?"

"The twist."

Marco glanced at the scarf hanging from his neck, then wound it tighter in a knot.

They didn't have to stand under the snowfall for long; the bus arrived. Marco climbed onto it, smiling behind the soft fabric of the scarf as he sat himself at the back. Looking out the window, he tried to take another look at the gym, just in case. But of course he couldn't see the group anymore.

As he leaned back against his seat, burying his nose into the scarf, Marco made a mental note to call Mikasa later. She was in the female basketball team; she might know who the offensively blunt yet kind guy is. If not, then she might know one of his friends. At least one of them ought to be in the male's team, right?

Either way, Marco was going to find the guy who gave him the scarf and thank him properly. With that decided, Marco leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he let the low rumble of the bus lull him to a nap.

_That was surely an unexpected twist. Hopefully a good one._


End file.
